


Child's Eye View

by tactfulGnostalgic



Series: The Sun We Know [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bittersweet, Childhood Friends, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 18:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9084988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tactfulGnostalgic/pseuds/tactfulGnostalgic
Summary: Now, you are children.





	

i.

Your mother takes you to a playground on a summer day in late June. New York is beautiful this time of year - hot, and so humid it's hard to breathe, but beautiful. You climb atop the jungle gym and rest, satisfied, at its peak, surveying your bounteous kingdom. Your mother sits with her legs crossed neatly on a bench, making notes in a leatherbound book. You consider gathering a bouquet of daisies to take to her, but reject the idea, as it would necessitate leaving your perch. Instead, you lay back against the bars and feel the sun seep into your bones. The heat makes you slow and lazy. You think you could probably sit up here forever, just staring at the twirling shapes of cirrus clouds against the sky.

Another couple strolls onto the playground; a man with dark, wild hair, and a small bald girl with dark green eyes. He ushers her toward the playground, and she toddles forward, tripping a couple of times, before approaching the jungle gym. You two are the only kids here. She struggles to climb up even the first bar - her arms are reedy-thin and weak. They can't bear up her weight, and she eventually falls with a soft plop. Shaking her head, she stares up at you, obviously jealous of your throne. Curious, you decide to climb down.

"Hi," you call. "Do you need any help?"

"No!"

You frown. "Are you sure? It looks like you need help."

"I can do it myself, thanks."

You roll your eyes. "Okay, fine, but what if I help you do it yourself?"

The girl seems to consider, and then nods, finding it an acceptable compromise. "All right."

You reach down and grasp her hand with one of your own - you're naturally muscular, stronger than most your age, and haul her up with ease. She flies off the ground like a doll on the wind. She can't weigh much more than seventy pounds, and you're careful with her while guiding her up through the bars. She starts shuddering when you reach the upper bars, almost nine feet off the ground, and is trembling once you seat yourself again at the top. You situate her gently next to you and wrap her arm through yours to keep her safe - a faint breeze could probably knock her off the thing.

"It's so high," she whispers. "I didn't think it'd be - oh."

"Do you want to go back down?" You don't say how much work it would be for you to take her right back down, after you'd spent so much time getting her up, but you don't say that. Your mother taught you manners.

"No. I don't know. It's quite scary." A British accent sharpens her T's and blunts her R's.

"I'll distract you, then," you announce. "I'm Roxy. That's my mom, right there." You point to her. 

"Oh. She's very nice."

"Sure is. What's your name?"

She hesitates. "Calliope," she says, and then, nodding at the dark-haired man, "That's my dad, over there."

"Do you have any siblings?"

She catches her lip between her teeth. "Used to."

"What do you - oh." Your mother told you that people died, sometimes, and that even kids died, sometimes, but you didn't think it actually happened. "I'm, I'm sorry."

"Uh, it's - it's okay." She's quiet for a moment. "Do - do you?"

"None," you announce, eager to change the subject. "Although my mom does and he's got a kid so I've got a cousin, and that's almost the same thing, so I guess I have a kind-of brother by default?"

"Is that possible? Having a default brother."

"I don't know, but I think he's mine, so that's that."

"Right," she says, and she smiles a little. It makes her so pretty.

"Calliope is a pretty name. I've never heard of anyone called that!"

"Thank you. That's kind of you to say. For what it's worth, I think Roxy is much nicer."

"What?" You scoff. "Why?"

"It's simple. And easy to spell. Calliope is the name of an old muse, or something, and it's terribly hard to spell, and I don't like it."

"Well." You bite the skin of your thumb, furrowing your brow. "We've gotta do something about that."

She lifts her eyebrows. "What?"

"You can't live with a name you don't like." You nod decisively. "I'm going to give you a nickname."

"What's that?"

"It's a name that's not your name but everyone calls you."

"Oh."

You tilt your head. "Callie?"

"Yes?" She tips her head. "That's what Dad calls me sometimes, but it's not - I didn't think it could be an official thing."

"You can ask people to call you whatever you want," you tell her firmly. "I made people call me Cat for six months when I was five because I thought they were neat. And everybody did. I had to remind them a couple of times, but they all did, for the most part." You add quickly, "I've grown up a lot since I was five, though."

"How old are you now?"

"Six."

"Right. Me, too," she says, and then considers. "So - Callie?"

"It's a pretty name. Prettier than Calliope, even."

"Yes." She smiles, and it's radiant. "That's much better. Thank you."

The dark-haired man stands and waves, and she shrinks into herself. "I have to go," she mumbles.

"I'll help you down."

It's easier going up than going down, you find, and you end up with her clinging to your back while you scramble down the ladder. It's hard work; by the end you've got sweat running down your face and making your shirt sticky. You give her an apologetic smile as you wipe a bit from your temple and then hold her hand.

"It was nice talking to you," you say.

"Yes." She gives you a look that's sad and also happy, and altogether confusing, so you don't dwell on it. You give her a hug and then she runs back to her dad, who takes her hand and leads her away.

"Bye, Callie!" You hold your breath and wave furiously, hoping she'll see you.

She glances over her shoulder and gives you a last, sweet smile, one that makes your heart thump faster and your palms sweat. Your cheeks hurt from grinning. Belatedly, you realize you forgot to ask for her dad's phone number, and you consider running after her, but your mother is rising and beckoning, and you suspect she wouldn't be happy if you ran after Calliope. You still consider it, until you're in the car driving away. You think about her for hours: the shape of her face, the bright glint of her teeth in the sun when she smiled.


End file.
